


Several Ados About One Thing

by gardnerhill



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Without a Clue (1988)
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Prompt Fic, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: One play, several different responses to it.





	Several Ados About One Thing

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2017 July Watson's Woes Promptfest prompt #11, **The Bard** We can't have a challenge without a little Shakespeare. Use a quote, a reference, or the man himself - it's all up to you.

“A facile little plot, Watson.” Holmes looked piqued as both men exited the theater. “Were it not for Beatrice and Benedick this would be yet another indistinguishable Shakespeare comedy about ludicrously mistaken identities and easily-misled fools.”

Watson smiled and patted the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Poor old fellow. And here I thought you’d recognise Dogberry and the Watch right away, seeing how often you must work with their counterparts.”

Holmes let out a bark of laughter even as he signaled for a cab.

***

“I am NEVER taking you to the theater again,” Watson fumed, his sword-stick tapping furiously on the cobbles as if to punctuate his hobbling stride. He was in his evening best but the lowering expression was pure soldier.

“Certainly not if you’re going to drag me to see a play with such a ludicrous plot against the _soi-disant_ hero of the piece,” Holmes retorted. He too was dressed in his best but still managed to look like an unmade bed. “Frankly, anyone as easily misled as Claudio deserves that level of amateur villainy.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure your shouting ‘That was her maid, you utter imbecile!’ was going to keep Claudio from ending Act Four’s wedding the same way as every night.”

“And I suppose your little mutter of ‘you can do SO much better than him,’ during the girl’s forgiveness scene was any better.”

“At least it was _quieter_!” Watson snapped, cheeks flushed.

They strode alongside each other in an angry (and oddly companionable) silence.

“Punchbowl?” Holmes said.

“God, yes,” said Watson, and both veered off in the direction of the infamous boxing pit.

***

“Blimey, that was a wasted evening,” Kincaid muttered.

“Voice down,” Watson reproved him. “You’re still Sherlock Holmes in public, even when you’re not wearing the deerstalker.”

“Dunno why they call those bloody things comedies,” his actor groused even as he obeyed, straightening under his black silk hat and looking about the milling lobby. “They stopped being funny about the time old Will hopped his twig–”

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” A man in his early twenties, traces of grease-paint still showing on his face, hastened toward him with a glowing smile on his face, paying little heed to the looks and calls of recognition from others in the lobby. “I’m so honoured that you came!”

Watson felt Kincaid straighten beside him as he he once again resumed the patrician cloak of Gentleman Consulting Detective. “Mr. George Raskin – our esteemed Claudio tonight,” Sherlock Holmes intoned. "I could hardly stay away. Watson and I are very fond of the theatre.”

Watson left his sleuth avatar to make small talk with the eager thespian and headed off to fetch drinks for both of them. In truth, he’d have preferred a drama or a modern comedy himself; why had Kincaid – Holmes – picked this one?

“Now I’m sure you have other members of the public to greet. What little I know of your world informs me that it’s quite bad manners to ignore everyone in favour of one attendee, no matter how distinguished,” said the distinguished detective – who masterfully covered his expression of distaste when a grinning Watson handed him a tiny glass of sherry. “My best wishes for the run of this performance, Mr. Raskin.”

“What was that all about, ‘Holmes’?” Watson asked when their gushing attendee had abashedly moved on to greet other theatre enthusiasts.

“I was in a play with George’s dad Harry when we were both penniless performing kids. Horrid little roach-pit of a theatre, they threw beer-bottles at us.” Kincaid took a sip of the aperitif. “How do toffs drink this stuff, Watson?”

Supporting an old mate’s son in his budding career. And having “Sherlock Holmes” in attendance would give this performance an unofficial celebrity endorsement that could prolong the run and make a star of the young man.

Watson reached up and took away the small glass. “I’m very sure I can find you a proper pint of beer – even here.”

“Brilliant deduction, old man,” Kincaid whispered, grinning. “I’ve trained you well.”

***

Sherlock picked up the remote and turned off the telly.

“I will never understand why they cast Keanu Reeves in that thing,” was all John said.

**Author's Note:**

> My original response to this prompt was [Prologue from THE TRAGEDY OF REICHENBACH](https://archiveofourown.org/works/894373).


End file.
